


Letters

by scarletopinions



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, i cannot express to u how queerplatonic this is like if u're looking for smut it's not here, this was supposed to be fluffly but it's les mis what did i really expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletopinions/pseuds/scarletopinions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after the day they met, Combeferre sends R a letter for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters

**Author's Note:**

> For Kenneth @kaijulhu on twitter!  
> Merry Christmas!!

Dear R,

Christmas Day has always been a meaningful occassion to me; to us. I’m so thankful that you recall the significance of it as vividly and with as much fondness as I do, and I cannot express the joy I felt when you asked to exchange letters instead of gifts this year. Five years have passed now, but it feels like a lifetime. I hope you don’t mind if I reminisce for a moment, because this is of such profound importance to me that I’d just like to put down my thoughts on all that has transpired between us.

I still have the first letter you ever wrote me; it’s in front of me as I write. Of course, it merely instructs me to enjoy a ‘Merry Christmas,’ but the turning point that phrase created in our lives makes my heart lift everytime I hear those words.

I’ll never forget that first afternoon. I saw you when you came in with whom I now know well to be Bahorel, but at the time - I won’t lie - I was slightly intimidated by the both of you. Undercuts, tattoos, and leather jackets; overall not the type of people I expected to enter a library on Christmas Day, but you still seem to have a knack of surprising me even nowadays.

You glanced my way rather a lot - as I’m sure you remember - and it excited me. Not in a romantic way; our relationship has never been like that, but you had an air about you that fascinated me, and it made me curious to see someone so seemingly different from me taking an interest in what I was doing. The three of us were the only ones there that day, besides Jehan behind the desk, but he was too busy flirting with Bahorel to take any notice of us.

When I got up from my seat to seek out a book, I lost sight of you, and returning, I found that you and your friend had gone. But when I went to sit down again, there was a note in my chair. ‘Merry Christmas – R’ it said.

I wondered what R could possibly stand for all week. Every name that ever began with that letter ran through my mind at some point, but none of them seemed to fit _you_ , which explains my delight when I found out the true meaning of that signature.

I went back to the library the next week at the same time, and you were there. I was surprised at the strength of the surge in my heart at seeing you, but I certainly didn’t supress it. I sat in my usual chair and read for a while, keeping one corner of my eye fixed in your direction. When I noticed you get up and head for the toilets, I quickly pulled a pre-written note out of my pocket. You weren’t with anyone this time, so it was easy for me to leave it without suspision. Once again there was hardly anyone there; it was New Year’s Day.

By the time you returned I was back in my chair, trying my best to mimic the position I’d been in before I’d moved. You saw the note (‘Happy New Year – Combeferre,’) and gave a smile in my direction. I looked up and returned it with a small wave.

From that moment on we left notes for each other every week. One would always make sure to get up at some point during the visit to give the other a chance to drop the note, and we’d exchange smiles. Never more than that. The notes, however, became more and more detailed. After two months we were writing full letters to each other and within six I knew more about you than I did anyone else. Still we hadn’t spoken a word.

You told me of your sister, your art, your dancing. I told you of my work, my hobbies, my friends. We spoke about our love lives, our childhoods, our aspirations. You became my confidence, I became yours. We were closer than friends; closer, even, than lovers. I knew your faults. I had read your deepest thoughts on the days you were in the depths of despair. You watched me cry silently as you read my letter detailing the death of my mother. You hugged me that day. It was the first physical interaction between us other than smiles and waves, yet we kept our unspoken vow of verbal peace.

Those days were bliss. I would never give up all we have now, but I loved the simplicity and uniqueness of our relationship. Then it all changed.

One week, you didn’t come. Sometimes that happened, and we would just wait until the next week to deliver the letters. But then you didn’t come the week after, or the week after that, or the week after that. Silence, for three months. It scared me.

I asked Jehan if he knew where you were, or why you didn’t come, but he was as much in the dark as I was. Your letters beforehand hadn’t been any different from the usual; I know because I pored over them time and time again looking for any sign of distress, dislike, or anything that would give me some indication of why you weren’t coming. I wrote down a list of possible reasons for your disappearance – I regret to say that some of them were terribly morbid – and crossed them off as I found evidence that ruled them out. It got me nowhere, and I still didn’t know your name.

It was raining heavily one day as I was leaving for the library. Three weeks after you’d gone, I started going every day, in the hope you’d turn up.

 I turned around after locking the door and suddenly you were in front of me. I don’t know what came over me in that moment but the next thing I knew I was clinging to you for dear life.

I pressed my face into your neck, and you tightened you arms around me. We were both soaked to the bone by the time we let go, but we didn’t care. You were there, in front of me, and this time we weren’t going to let old times’ sake stand in the way of us seeing each other again. We spoke.

“I missed you”

It’s funny that, isn’t it? Missing someone that you’ve never said a word to? In a few years, social networking would take over and becoming friends with people you’ve never spoken to in person would become the norm, but for me, in that moment, it was strange. I can’t describe it.

We said it at the same time, which didn’t surprise me. We knew each other inside out. We still do.

“Jehan told me your address,” you said. Your voice was deep, and gravely. It was beautiful. That night I read back over all of your letters, this time with your voice, and it fit perfectly. You told me once that you did the same.

We went back inside to my apartment and talked for hours. We talked about everything we’d written in the letters, and everything we hadn’t. When you told me your name, we both laughed at the pun, despite the number of times you must have heard it.

The only thing you never told me was where you went for those three months. I never asked. I never will. What’s important to me is that I know you didn’t leave me because you wanted to. And you came back.

I’m not sure what drew us to each other on that very first Christmas, but whatever it was it’s stayed with us for five years, and I know that I couldn’t be without it; without you. You mean the world to me Grantaire, if not more. I know that you struggle sometimes; I’ve seen you at your worst. But you pull through, you always pull through and I will always be there to help you. Always.

Merry Christmas.

\- Combeferre


End file.
